Writer. Editor. Nomad.
You know when authors say they’ve been writing their whole lives? Like they came out of the womb with a Sharpie and dream?
I am not one of those writers.
Writing was always an afterthought–something I did to vent when I was upset, or got stuck in a daydream. Then I started traveling–having real-life adventures–and I started to see a WORLD of contradictions. The homeless living in the arched entryways of Paris. Traditional temples next to modern skyscrapers in Taipei. Steaming hot tea in an icy glowworm cave in New Zealand.
The biggest contradiction of all is my love/hate relationship with the page. Some days I feel like a mad genius, and others it’s like I’m trying to run pool balls through an orange juicer. I’m not observant enough or sensitive enough or smart enough to be a writer, but I keep sitting down at my desk and trying to write the words anyway.
I get to sit at a lot of glamorous desks–cool hipster cafes in Chiang Mai and bamboo coworking spaces in Bali–but the truth is, no matter where you go, the struggle is the same.
Write the pages. Stretch your limitations. Tell the story only you can tell.
If we had to claim our high school cliques (or even our college ones), you’d find Lola bolded under the jock column. I played sports and all my friends played sports. But while I was running millions of sprints, I’d be listing Anne McCaffrey’s dragons in my head. I’d wake up at 4:32 a.m. (the twos are lucky) and watch an episode of Inuyasha to wake myself up before lacrosse practice. You wouldn’t have called me a geek. Then again, you probably wouldn’t have known I was skipping parties to catch up on the Wheel of Time.
People are never just one thing. We are complicated and contradictory.
Now that writing is my full-time job, my stories are all about contradictions.
Like the bombshell superheroine who wants to slip into sweats and watch Iron Chef. Or the girl who can see all possible futures–where her dreams are as likely to come true as her nightmares.